Saturday Is the New Tuesday
Thunder Belly usually turns up on a Tuesday. This week it moved to Saturday, woke me at 6am, and stuck around into Monday with the eggy burps back for an encore.
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Thunder Belly usually turns up on a Tuesday. This week it moved to Saturday, woke me at 6am, and stuck around into Monday with the eggy burps back for an encore.
The wife was out, so it was a chippy tea. A small fish and chips turned out to be plenty, and I actually left some chips. That's not like me.
14 st 2 lb today. Two days running under the 200 lb mark now, which makes it harder to call a fluke. I'm pleased. I'm also quietly terrified of what happens if I can't keep this up.
I bought a kilo of peanut butter with nowhere to put it. Turns out a single teaspoon of the stuff does something no biscuit has managed: it actually makes the wanting stop, not just the eating.
I haven't had a bacon, sausage and black pudding sandwich on farmhouse bread in so long it actually hurts to think about it. I'm not hungry. I just want it. So I'm going to have it, and I'm not going to make it mean anything.
A colleague mentioned drinking two bottles of wine with dinner, then went and bought a burger, a pasty and a cookie for lunch the next day. They don't look like they're paying for any of it. I sat there and sulked.
Halloween, the wife's birthday month, then Christmas. I can see the whole run of temptation coming before it's even started. Turns out the thing I actually need to worry about isn't any of the food.
14 stone 3 pounds doesn't look like much of a win written down like that. Write it as 199 lbs instead, and it's a number I've never been under before.
I commute on Mondays, so I wasn't home all day. Didn't matter — I knew my wife had made stew before I'd even reached the front door. Turns out that's the one day of the week I'm glad to have missed it.
There's a KitKat on my desk that's been there for longer than I can remember. I look at it, and nothing happens. I don't really know what that means. I'm just noting that it's odd.